Dumpster For Two
by Choice
Summary: Kurt and Puck have a little picnic in a dumpster. This story, summed up? Dumpster!sex. Mature content warning.


**Dumpster For Two

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**

This was sort of inspired by a request over at _glee_kink_, for dumpster!sex. **NSFW**, and all that jazz.

Enjoy!

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"What's going on?"

Puck grinned excitedly, not saying a word as he held his arms out for Kurt.

Kurt stared.

"Come on," Puck said after a beat, impatience tingeing his voice ever so slightly. "I'll help you up."

"You want me to go into a _dumpster?_" Kurt asked dubiously, glaring at Puck in total disbelief. "I thought we were over the whole bullying thing, _especially_ since it was your twisted way of pulling on my pigtails. Which I still find perturbing, by the way."

"You talk too much. Come _here,_ goddamnit!" He hoisted the slighter boy in his arms and smirked when Kurt squealed in indignation. "I'm not dumpster tossin' you-"

"Hmm, could've fooled me," Kurt grumped, folding his arms across his chest and glaring up at Puck despite the flush on his cheeks. "So what are you doing, then?"

"Stop talking, and maybe you'll find out." Puck helped Kurt into the dumpster, which, surprise-surprise, smelled like days-old luncheon meat and stale… things. But what was new was the scenery.

It was still a dark metal trash bin, but save for a scruffy, threadbare quilt that had clearly seen better days and a cardboard box, there was nothing inside. No banana peels, no festering meatloaf leftovers, nothing.

"What's going on, Puck?" He asked again, his brow furrowed in confusion. He scowled when the other boy nearly toppled him over as he leapt his way into the dumpster. "Why are we in an empty dumpster? Is this your new room or something?" He frowned. "Did your mom find out about… this? Did she kick you out, or-"

"Dude, can it." He laughed at Kurt's sour face, reaching over to tousle his perfectly styled hair. Kurt hissed and slapped the large, warm hand away from his 'do and tried to fix the damage. "My mom's just as oblivious as she was last night when she thought you came over to work on _homework_ with me. This is just a little… something I did for you," He admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

Kurt blinked at this unusual display of sheepishness. "Oh? Well… What did you have in mind, then?"

"A picnic!" Puck announced proudly, tugging the cardboard box over towards him.

"…" Kurt blinked some more. He felt like one of those disturbingly lifelike porcelain dolls that had moving eyelids. "A picnic…? In a _trashcan_?"

"A _clean_ trashcan." Puck frowned. "Dude, I spent like, all of fourth period scrubbing this shit down with some Lysol and antibacterial wipes."

"Where'd you get the cleaning products from? Lord knows they weren't _yours_." Kurt scoffed, neatly sitting down Indian-style next to Puck as he tried to peek in the box.

"I might've borrowed them from the counselor." Puck said, taking out some bottles and Ziploc's.

"The OCD one? Oh, Puck," Kurt chastised, "She's probably huddled in a corner in her office, whimpering and in the fetal position."

"So?" Puck shrugged. "She'll learn to toughen up. Roll with the punches."

"_You've got to ro-o-oll with the punches to get to what's real!_" Kurt sang automatically. He stopped when Puck shot him a look. "What?"

"You're weird," Puck said seriously, but the smile on his face told another story. He passed Kurt a tan glass bottle.

"Wine? Oh, Puck, how classy of you!" Kurt inspected the label. "Ooh, _Casa Lapostolle_? Not too shabby."

"It was my mom's," Puck said, inspecting a Tupperware container before rummaging around in the box. "Here, uncork and pour," He instructed, passing Kurt a slightly worse for wear corkscrew and two dinky plastic champagne glasses. Kurt shrugged. He didn't like Puck for his sophistication or lack thereof, unless the ability to render Kurt speechless with blowjobs was a sign of class.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what's the occasion?" Kurt asked, sipping from his flute as he placed Puck's at his side. "You know, if Mercedes finds out I'm not in the nurse's office with a horrible spontaneous migraine and skipping glee for a dumpster rendezvous, I'm dead. And your Mohawk will be _waxed_ off your sorry skull."

"You talk _waaaay_ too much, have I told you that?" Puck muttered, giving Kurt a sandwich.

"Ooh, is this-?"

"Your favorite? Yes, roast beef, provolone and low-fat mayo on seedless rye," Puck said with a smirk. He got a peck on the lips for his effort. "Hey! Don't I get, like, a hand job or something for that?"

"Oh, you'll get your reward in time, don't worry your pretty little Mohawk about it." Kurt said around a delicate mouthful of meaty deliciousness. "But picnic first. You worked so hard on this, after all."

Puck scowled and muttered something about 'stupid romanticizing little sisters' under his breath as he viciously attacked his own sandwich.

They ate in a comfortable silence, only broken when Kurt needed a napkin ("You didn't think to bring _napkins_, Puck?" "Use your sleeve-_it was just a suggestion, don't hit me!_" "One word, Puck: _Armani._") or when Puck asked for the bottle of wine. ("Use your glass!" "C'mon, I won't _backwash._" "You have a glass, _use. It._" "Bitch." "Idiot." "…Wanna make out?")

The two of them lay on their sides, the blanket cushioning their bodies as they kissed in the surprisingly cozy atmosphere. In between kissing, Kurt asked, "So is this some sort of fantasy of yours? Having sex in a dumpster?"

Puck made a face. "No, that's a disgusting and unhygienic kink, even for me. But…" His mouth exploded into a wide grin that made Kurt's chest tighten. "I _did_ sanitize this trashcan. Might as well… reap the benefits, right?" He whispered against Kurt's lips, his breath minty and chocolaty from the Thin Mints Puck nicked off his sister's girl scout friends and packed for dessert.

"Mmm, Puck…" Kurt whispered, instinctively arching his neck so Puck could reach one of his favorite spots on Kurt's pale skin. He closed his eyes and moaned at the feel of teeth nipping at his flesh. "Puck. What if someone hears us?"

"So? Let them hear, I always thought the sound of you screaming my name was something every person should hear before they die."

"What if Mister-_oh!_" Kurt yelped when Puck did that swirly-pokey thing with his tongue against the shell of his ear. "Oh _God,_ don't stop."

Puck smirked and pulled away, ignoring Kurt's panted threats. He tugged at Kurt's jean-zipper, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I…" Kurt huffed. "Fine. You're too persuasive."

"Nah, you're just too easy." He laughed and ducked to avoid Kurt's hand. The fight was settled when Puck pulled Kurt's hard cock from the black boxer-briefs. Kurt moaned and whacked his head against the padded dumpster floor. "See?"

"Just-" Kurt sputtered, his eyelashes fluttering. "Don't stop. Don't stop _ever- holy shit!"_ He squeaked when Puck swiped his slit with his tongue. "_FuckfuckPuck…"_

Puck licked his lips and reached down to undo his own jeans, hovering over Kurt until his lips were right above Kurt's. "You're so hot when you're desperate." He said honestly, crushing their lips together as he took both their dicks into one hand. They both moaned appreciatively and struggled to get closer.

Kurt's hand inched its way up into Puck's flannel shirt to toy with his nipple ring, much to the other's delight. Puck saw stars, and when Kurt chuckled at his _manly_ whimpering, Puck retaliated by slipping his free hand down to press against Kurt's perineum.

Kurt mewled long and high, his body arching in a perfect bridge off the dumpster floor as he came.

Puck panted, letting go of Kurt's dick to pull the other boy close as he ground up against him. Kurt opened his eyes, moaning and bending his one leg in invitation. Puck hid his face in the crook of Kurt's sweat-clammy neck as he humped Kurt's shaky leg, biting at that pale shoulder as he shot his load all over Kurt's kneecap.

"Fuck," Puck breathed as they settled back down to French their way down from their orgasm high.

"Mmm." Kurt sucked at Puck's swollen bottom lip and closed his eyes. "Like I said, not complaining… but what was the occasion for all of this?"

"Mercedes told me."

Kurt was back to blinking owlishly. "Um, what?"

"She said today was the anniversary of your… you know…" Puck looked away, frowning, because how much of a killjoy was your dead mother? _No offense,_ Puck thought quickly. _Rest in peace… or whatever._

Kurt's eyes flashed in surprised recognition. "Oh. _Oh._"

"You… um, you forgot?" Puck asked, a bit taken aback.

"What? No!" Kurt looked offended until Puck kissed him a few times. "No… I never forget my mom. It's just…" Kurt sighed and rested his head on Puck's abdomen. "I kind of-you've kept me occupied, for the most part, this past week. I haven't had time to really sit and cry over her stuff."

"Good," Puck said. Kurt looked up at him in curiosity. "Because honestly? I would only watch your fruity musicals and let you give me a facial-which I totally thought would be something else-when you need to forget to be sad."

"That's the sweetest thing someone's ever done for me." Kurt said softly, wrapping his arms around Puck's neck. He frowned. "Well, you know, minus the whole facial thing. That's disgusting. _You're _disgusting."

"Oh, you say that now…" Puck laughed when Kurt stuck his tongue out at him. "Put that away unless you plan on doing something useful with it. But seriously, Kurt… I'd-"

"Puck," Kurt said with a smile that threatened to tear his face in half, "I love you, too."

"I-um, good," Puck sputtered, his face flushing. "That's good. Now you can't be pissed at me when I tell you that I think your stupid scarf-thing is ruined."

"What do you-_you did not get jizz on my new McQueen scarf!_"

"You can't hurt me! You love me-_ow!_ Stop slapping me you-_fuck, not my nipple ring, you catty bitch!_"

Miss Pillsbury paused mid-sob, on her way to her car. She turned around to look for whatever she'd heard, but dissolved into more pathetic whimpering when she noticed she'd stepped right into a mud puddle. "Oh, woe, salmonella and _E. coli_!" She cried, flailing the rest of the way to her parking space. Forget about therapy: she needed disinfectant, and lots of it.


End file.
